This is Africa
by penofjade
Summary: Tia Bowen travels to Africa in search of her father. Never mind that her mother has never told her who he is or if he is even still alive... Rated T for slight language.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own any of the characters from Blood Diamond; Tia is my own creation, so I do own her, however.

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My name is Tia Bowen and I have no father. I'm not talking about the biological kind, so don't stop reading because you think I'm a nut job. No, what I mean is that it has always been Mom and me, or me and Mom...We've wandered the world, she and I. She's a famous enough journalist that I figured out where she was when she conceived me, but that really doesn't solve my problem...When you're conceived on a continent like Africa, your range of possibilities is still very high. I am most assuredly completely white, so that narrows down the pool a little, but I still have the major problem of the life span in Africa. What is that exactly? Haven't a clue, just know that there aren't a lot of gray heads there...

All my mother would ever tell me about her time in Africa was that it was how I got my name. Tia comes from TIA, or "This is Africa". She told me about how that whole idea was why some people who could leave the continent, wouldn't. They had no clue as to how they would survive without Africa. Before that I had always thought she had just found that particular name pretty...Should have known that wouldn't be true for my mom. Maddie Bowen is a good mother, and a great journalist. Do I mind that those adjectives aren't switched? Not really...She does her best at both, and it just so happens that she's better at the one than the other. Can't blame her there...She did have to drag a daughter all over the world with her, after all. Though there were those few times when she left me with my grandparents...It was always when she got one of those assignments that would make my Granny go, "She's on another Africa quest." It wasn't said with any anger, however, just a sad shake of the head and a small smile.

Maybe she loved my dad and maybe she didn't...I'll probably never know, right? He is, more likely than not, either dead or in his own world somewhere. I figure that if he were another journalist than she might have told me at some point. She never did that, and somehow I don't think she would fall for a journalist anyway...Not enough adventure! So that leaves...what, exactly? One title down, how many more to go? It's Africa, for Heaven's sake! He could have been a mercenary, an ex-pat, a vet, a diplomat, smuggler, a drug runner, a politician, a farmer, a who-knows-what! Sometimes I think I should just give up...And then I wonder why I don't! I guess I truly am my mother's daughter, after all...Trying to find the answers to a question I'm too afraid to ask. Why am I afraid? Because she might not tell me, or she might not know, or, worst of all, she might start crying. And if she did that, then I would know that he's dead...Because if my mother starts crying, then she's reached a point when she can do no more. If he were alive, she would have found him. She obviously hasn't...So if she loved him, then he'd be dead.

As I stand here in Africa, I'm praying she didn't love him...Because, if she didn't love him, then he might still be alive. And if he's still alive, than there's a chance that this idea of mine might actually work. Even though I have a gut deep feeling that it won't. All I have to go on is the magazine article that she wrote about Africa, twenty years ago. And I have a dead man's name...a black and white photo...and a hunch. I've come to Africa, the place that I was named after and the land upon which I was conceived, hoping that the name and the face will get me some answers.

Danny Archer. Smuggler, mercenary, and vet. I've stared at that face over the years, asking myself if I see any similarities. But the picture's black and white, and I'm not. I've dreamt about what it would be like if I could meet him. But he's dead...It says so, right there in the magazine...And my mother wrote it, so it must be true, right? But then, after staring at that photo for hours on the plane, I remind myself that I don't want the man in the article to be my father, because if he is, then I just spent too many hours and too much money on a flight to a place that I might find no answers in. Sierra Leone is not a place for a white girl to travel alone. The RUF is not like it was, but it is still there, on the fringes. And other groups are there, too. I'll be one among many people, it's true, but I'll be one among only a few in appearance.

I couldn't stop myself from getting on the plane, however. Mom was off on another assignment, and I had a break from school, so I grabbed my stuff, bought a plane ticket, and prayed that I would know what to do. Now that I'm here in the hot wind of Africa, I can only stand and think. What would it have been like if my father was the man in the article and he had survived? Would my mother have stopped looking for the next adrenaline high? Would we have had a house in the burbs, white picket fence and bird feeders in the front yard? Would I have spent Christmas' at home instead of in some tent in the jungle or in a bombed out building in a post-Soviet country? I can only sigh and look for anything that might tell me what to do...I see people, all hurrying past in a bright array of colors. And then everything blurs together, and I start to cry silently.

What am I doing here? I don't know anyone, I don't speak the language, and I'm afraid of what I will learn, if I learn anything at all! Just then, I feel a hand land on my shoulder, and I tense myself to strike at the stranger. My elbow connects with his middle, and I spin, planting a kick to the side of his neck. I might be short, but I hadn't been raised in battle torn countries without learning a thing or two about defense! I stopped thinking about my would be whatever-he-was when I see who was walking down the other side of the street.

I froze. No. NO!...no...Surely not...It was him! The man in the magazine. Archer...He hadn't even noticed the little skirmish I had just been participating in. I hurried across the street, dodging vehicles and animals until I was walking behind him. He didn't turn, didn't acknowledge my presence at all, even though I knew he was probably quite aware of it.

He reached an alley entrance and walked into it; I followed. He was waiting, which was only to be expected. If he had honestly just been walking down an alley in Africa for the sake of walking down an alley, then he was pretty stupid. Somehow, I doubted his stupidity. I still held the magazine in my hand, not having bothered to put it back in my shoulder bag. He had his arms crossed and his sunglasses were now on the top of his head.

I didn't wait for him to make a smart ass comment. I had things to do, and I wasn't going to let the miracle God had just dropped into my lap get away. Flipping open the magazine, I studied the two images: the one black and white, the other in technicolor. The living one was many years older, but there was still the same face. I had to make sure, though.

"Danny Archer?" He seemed shocked to hear me ask that. "Are you Danny Archer?" I asked again after a few seconds. Still getting no reply, only a stunned expression. I began to lose patience. "Look, if you aren't Danny Archer, let me know, kay? I have a whole continent to cover and only a few days to do it in, so I don't have time to deal with bull shit from people who can't answer a simple question." That seemed to snap him out of his trance, for his eyes looked a little less stunned and a little more guarded when he replied.

"Yes," he said, an obvious accent declaring his long residence in the country. "Why? Who are you, huh?"

I just cocked my head and looked at him. So, this was Danny Archer, alive and breathing. Mom had no idea. She honestly believed he was dead, this man. I wondered if Mom loved him. Just from his looks I couldn't blame her...He wasn't bad on the eyes. I answered his question, still studying this person who might or might not be my father.

"I'm Tia, and I came here looking for you,"I answered, watching his expression.

"Why?" he demanded, a sour look on his face, "Have they started sending girls to try and kill me now? I thought they gave up on me a long time ago..."

"No..." I answered, deciding to tell him who I thought he was. "I think you're my father."

Silence. Only the noise from the street behind us broke the quiet. He didn't even move. All he did was stare at me, his eyes even more shocked than before. Finally he sputtered out, "What!?"

"I said, I think you're my father," I repeated.

"Why?!" was his only response.

I answered by holding out the tattered magazine. He took it gingerly, and flipped through it until he came to the article. His face contorted when he read the byline. Mom's name apparently did mean something to him.

"This doesn't answer my question," he rasped as he white knuckled the periodical. "Did you just see this picture and make me into what you wanted your dad to look like!?"

"No," I answered, still watching his face. "I thought you might be my father because my mother never talks about this place...Even though this is where I was conceived."

"I've probably never even met your mother!" he exploded, his eyes glaring into mine.

"Then how did she get that picture of you? And how did she write that article? And why did she name me after this place? And why do I look more like you than her?" I gave him only a fraction of the many questions that had been in my head since I was old enough to form a coherent thought.

His face blanched white, and I thought he was going to need to sit down. "Maddie?" he mumbled. "You're Maddie's daughter?"

I nodded. Words didn't seem necessary.

"Tia?" was his next answer, this one quizzical.

We spoke together, "This Is Africa."

As I stood and watched him try to process the idea that he had flesh and blood in the world, I realized something...I wasn't without a father anymore. Even if this was the only time I ever saw or spoke to him, he was now the father I had never known. There wasn't an empty void, a blank space in my mind; the image I had seen in the magazine had come to life and he was my father...Danny Archer was my dad, and I felt, for the first time ever, like I was a complete person.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry it too so long to get this up here...I have been around, just not logged in to post stuff. I'm actually really pleased with this story. I'll probably go ahead and mark this as complete, even though I've been messing around with another chapter. If I do anything with that, though, I'll end up adding it as an epilogue (probably). Anyway, hope you all like this closing chapter on Tia meeting Danny. I don't claim to own anyone (except maybe Tia, since the creator of the movie wasn't smart enough to come up with her ^.^ ).

We were sitting down and talking about an hour later; I had just finished telling him how I had made the snap decision to get on the airplane to Africa. He was shocked when I told him that I had never before been to the country.

"Maddie's never done another article about Africa?" he asked, seemingly taken aback.

"No...I don't think she's ever been back here. At least, not that I can remember," I told him, seeing his face fall slightly. I attempted to reassure him, "Maybe it was just too hard for her to come back here...She wouldn't talk about it, even though she did tell me what my name meant."

He nodded, looking sideways, out over the tops of the buildings. "I can't say that I blame her for not coming back here, huh? Life wasn't easy to her when she was here...I am proud of what she did with Solomon, though. _Ja_, that made me glad I'd called her."

I couldn't help myself...I had to know. Would he tell me the truth? I didn't know, but I still wanted to ask the question. "Did you love her?"

His gaze swung back to me, his eyes now sad. "_Ja_..." was all he said before he looked back out over the city.

Later that evening, after he had gone in search of food for us, he started asking me questions about my youth. I was rather surprised, not having expected to find someone so willing to dive into fatherhood as he seemed to be.

I decided to start at the beginning. "Granny said when Mom found out she was pregnant, she started turning down assignments. It was apparently the first time _anything_ had kept her from the field. But, two weeks after I was born, she was off again...to Panama, I think. She came back three weeks later, stayed a week, and left again. I don't think I spent much time with her for the first five years or so. But then, when I was six, she took me on an assignment to England. She thought it was going to be quick...just a final touch on an article. We were supposed to be gone for about a week. We didn't get back to the States for a month, and three of those weeks we spent in Romania."

Danny was nursing a beer, and didn't seem about to interrupt. His eyes were trained on my face, which reminded me of Mom. She did that too, as though looking for a lie or a flicker of unexpected emotion.

I continued, "Mom told me she felt guilty leaving me behind while she was off traveling the globe. She always gave me the choice about staying with Granny and Gramps or going with her. I usually went with her. I love my grandparents, but there's something about going places tourists avoid, seeing the faces of people who just want it all to stop. I wasn't Mom: I didn't write articles or take pictures, but I learned something from all that. You can't expect life to be kind...And you have to appreciate the moments of peace while they last. To a child in some post-Soviet countries, if the holiday season comes sans bombs, then it truly is a Christmas miracle."

Danny finally spoke. "So Maddie never settled down with a husband and a dog, huh?"

I shook my head, saying, "It would have been an exceptional person who could have made Mom truly want that... Maybe I was too much like her to be that person."

"It's been nineteen years since I saw her, so that would put you in university, _ja_?" His head was cocked to one side as he studied me.

I nodded.

"What are you studying? Journalism?"

"No...I'm studying cultural anthropology with a minor in history." I could see from his face he hadn't been expecting that answer at all.

"What are you going to do with that?" He truly seemed interested in knowing.

"I think I'll keep studying...Maybe become a college prof someday. I love the process of learning too much to ever really give it up... But, you know, you're wrong about the dog. It was my freshman year in highschool when I decided that I needed to stay in the States and focus on my schooling, not disappear to another country for a month or two at a time. She agreed with me, actually, which I hadn't been expecting. The day she was set to leave for...Columbia, that time, she came home with a box. She'd gotten me a little Yorkshire Terrier puppy. I'd never had a pet before...there hadn't been the time for one. Granny says that when I'm away at school Phlox just mopes around."

He seemed bemused by the story of how I'd gotten Phlox, which made me smile. I missed my little dog when I was away from her, but I was glad I'd decided to travel across the Atlantic. Through some miracle, I'd found my father. That reminded me, though...what would Mom say when she found out I'd come to Sierra Leone without permission?

Danny seemed to guess what I was thinking, which was another reason he was freakishly like Mom, for he said, "She doesn't know you're here, does she?"

I shook my head.

"Do your grandparents know?"

I shook my head again.

"Where do they think you are?"

"In Florida..."

"Why would you be in Florida?"

"Spring Break..."

"So...you told your grandparents you were going to Florida for Spring Break, then you jumped on a plane, flew almost a dozen hours over the Atlantic Ocean, with the intention of finding a man who was supposed to be dead... As your Father, I suppose I should be very angry with you. But, as your Father, I'm also very proud of you. You, however, are never to tell that last bit to your mother, huh? I like my skin on my body..."

I giggled, glad that he wasn't going to start yelling at me for what I now knew was a very stupid thing to do. I would be lucky if Mom didn't just kill me outright.

Danny stood up then, and walked over to a small table which was squished into the space between bed and wall in the tiny room. Picking up a black object, he came back and handed it to me. I now saw that it was a sat phone. I gulped, knowing what he wanted me to do. Even with several hundred miles between us, Mom was still going to do her best at killing me when she found out where I was. And then, I couldn't be quite sure how she would react to hearing that Danny Archer was still alive. She might even start crying, which would be totally disastrous.

Sighing, I punched in the number of Mom's sat phone, which she always carried with her in case I needed to reach her. She answered quickly. Her voice made me start to feel guilty immediately. "How's Florida, Tia? Bet it's warmer there than here... What did you need?"

Taking a deep breath, I said, "Mom...um...about Florida..."

"Yes?"

"Well...I'm not actually there..."

"Did you get back early? Did something happen? Are you alright? Are Granny and Gramps alright?"

"No, no...there's nothing wrong. Last I checked Granny and Gramps were fine." I could see, out of the corner of my eye, Danny's slightly sympathetic expression.

"What is it then?" Maddie's voice had taken on a suspicious edge, which let me know she was trying to figure out what I was up to.

"Mom...I'm in Africa." I gave up on drawing out the telling any longer...It was like a band aid, right? The faster you pulled it off, the quicker the pain went away.

"YOU'RE WHERE?" That had been loud enough, I'd pulled the phone away from my ear.

"Africa, Mom...It was a last minute decision...No one knew."

I don't think she heard me, however, for more indecipherable yelling could be heard pouring out of the phone. I tried again, but still she just kept going.

Finally, I seized on a possible way to make the yelling stop. Looking up at Danny, I said, "I found my father."

Dead silence. Minutes passed, with only that empty silence to greet me on the other end. Finally, Mom's voice, which sounded close to tears, said, "He's dead, Tia...Your father died before you were born."

After I had announced finding him, Danny had squatted down next to me so that he could hear what was being said. Now he took the phone from me, a gentle expression on his face. "Maddie..."he said, his own voice rough with unshed tears, "I'm so sorry, Maddie."

He walked away, talking quietly into the phone. I was left, looking out the room's only window. The darkness was spreading out vast fingers, stealing away the last of the bright colors the sunset had painted onto everything. I wasn't sure how the story would end. All I knew at that particular moment was my life would never again be the same. Whether or not Danny and Maddie got together, it wouldn't matter. Just the knowledge that I was fully whole made me happy. Through some miracle, he had survived almost twenty years in a country where many, I was sure, had sought to end his life. I wanted him to come home with me, but knew it wasn't my decision to make. So I would wait and see...and pray. I would pray for another miracle.

Two years have passed since that fateful day in an alley in Sierra Leone. I'm getting ready to walk across the stage to receive my diploma in front of friends and family. They say my name, and out I go. I've stood and watched revolutionary militias, hidden in jungles as gorilla fighters stomp by, but none of those places or things seems quite as frightening as this one, single walk. Twenty seconds pass and I'm through, sitting among others in my class.

That's when I start looking. After several moments of vain searching, I see a group of familiar faces. There's Granny and Gramps, beaming. Beside them, Mom with her ever present camera. And next to her, my father. Danny Archer's smile is so huge, I think his face might be in actual danger of splitting.

He decided, that day on the sat phone, to finally leave Africa. Two days later, after boarding the plane which would take us to England where we would meet Mom, I asked him about TIA. He said he still had it. Looking at me, he chuckled, "Maddie made sure I would always have Africa...You're TIA."

I don't think he would have ever thought, all those years ago when he first met Mom, that he would one day be sitting next to her, watching their daughter graduate college. He told me about his life in Africa...About what he and Mom had gone through for Solomon and his family. I was proud of them both. And from the looks on their faces, they were proud of me too.


End file.
